by Hannah Ross
"Alexander!" chided Eleanor. "You know you aren't well enough to get out of bed by yourself."
A bitter smile twisted Alexander Dahl's lips. "I still retain the use of my legs, Eleanor... to a certain degree. Better take advantage of it while I can, don't you think?"
Stephanie felt a cruel despondency as she looked at her father. He was thin, wraithlike, his skin grey and almost translucent, as if he were fading away from this world before her very eyes. To push away this unsettling thought, Stephanie got up and pulled out a chair for her father. "Come and sit down, Daddy. Do you want a glass of lemonade?"
"Do you want me to ring for Harriet and tell her to bring a jacket?" Eleanor asked. "Your shirt is rather thin, and it's getting a little chilly."
"Don't worry, Eleanor, it's not a gust of wind that's going to kill me. Let me enjoy the fresh air while it's still possible." With his last remaining strength, Dahl balled his right hand into a fist. "So weak! So helpless! After being so close to a near-eternal life! It's enough to drive anyone mad."
Eleanor and Stephanie exchanged glances of mute wariness. Even now, all these years later, Alexander Dahl kept raving about the lost NOAGE formula which, Stephanie told herself, was most likely a myth, or, at any rate, its effects surely were grossly exaggerated.
Olivia and Georgie came over, looking with great apprehension at the thin, grim, frail-looking man that was all but a stranger to them. "Wanna go home," Georgie whined.
"Yes, dear. I know you're tired. Mama will take you home soon so you can rest."
"They're fine children," Dahl said, looking down at the little boy and girl. It was the closest to a warm sentiment he ever expressed about his grandchildren. "You and Ned can be pleased and proud, Stephanie. One of my daughters, at least, has connected herself in a way that does not disgrace me."
"Please, Alexander, let's not talk of anything unpleasant," Eleanor implored.
He gave a mirthless chuckle. "In that case we might as well remain silent."
The children, stiff and shy in the presence of the gloomy sick man, edged close to their mother and took hold of her skirt. "I'm sorry, Mom, Dad," Stephanie said, "I really must get going, there's this tea party…"
"Of course," Dahl said, "Go. You are a lady of society now. You have your duties."
"Thanks for stopping by, dear," Eleanor said before kissing her daughter.
Holding on to little Georgie's hand, Stephanie pulled out her phone and called the driver as they walked back up the lane. She felt like a coward for running away so soon, for not coming to visit more often, but it was so hard. Her parents' house felt more like a mausoleum than anything else these days. Visiting was depressing. A momentary thought flashed through her mind. Once Father is gone, the place can be made cheerful and lively again, and maybe Ned and I and the children can move in with Mother. Silver Oaks is much grander than anything we can ever afford on our own, and there will be plenty of room for all of us.
Mother would be happy. I'm sure of it .She's more and more lonely these days. Confined to the house by her feelings of duty and nursing Father. She wouldn't mind me redecorating downstairs and throwing away all that horrible old-fashioned furniture.
The next moment, Stephanie hated herself for having such thoughts. Her father was still alive. He was still fighting. The doctors might be wrong, and he might recover and live many years still, though, she had to admit, this hope was getting fainter and fainter by the day. Can the doctors really do more for him than prolong his agony?
The car was waiting for her at the end of the avenue. "Good afternoon, ma'am," the driver said. He hurried out, opened the door for Stephanie, and lifted Georgie, who was thoroughly tired by now, to his seat. Olivia climbed in, and Sam helped her fasten her seatbelt.
The au pair came to the door of the penthouse unit to meet them. "Good to see you, ma'am. The poor dears are tired by now, I suppose. It is past time little Georgie had his nap."
"Yes, Carla, take him. Then you can do something quiet with Olivia. Read to her, or take out the watercolors, or something of the sort."
"Yes, ma'am."
Georgie was quite happy to be picked up and nestled in Carla's familiar arms, but Olivia looked up to her mother with eyes unexpectedly probing and wondering. "Why don't you ever read to us, Mommy?" she asked in her innocent, childish voice.
Stephanie gave a strained little laugh. "What a thought, sweetie! Why, I read to you before bedtime two days ago. The story about the ugly duckling, remember?"
Olivia shook her head. Stephanie then recalled that the reading of that particular story actually occurred more like two weeks ago. The truth was, Carla was so efficient and helpful, and the children liked her so much, and Stephanie herself was so busy, it was easier to let Carla deal with all those trivial little things such as bedtime, temper tantrums, and sibling squabbles.
Stephanie bent and kissed the child, "Now be a good girl, listen to Carla, and don't tease your brother. Mommy is going out now, but I'll come back before you go to bed to tuck you in."
"Mommy is always going out," Stephanie heard the little girl say as Carla took her by the hand and led her away.
Stephanie bit her lip. Am I really that neglectful of my own children? I'm an important man's wife. I have a position in society to maintain. I can't be expected to spend all my days in the company of toddlers. It would be unthinkable and unbearably tedious. Au pairs exist to help important women like me shoulder our burden. That was how my sister and I were raised, and we didn't turn out too bad, did we? She sighed. My sister.
Stephanie began mounting the flight of stairs, eager to shake off the feeling of discomfort and awkwardness that took over her every time she thought of Priscilla and the choices she had made. We were so close as children. We had the same upbringing, we were offered the same opportunities. How could we have grown so far apart?
There was no time to dwell on it, though. She was running late, and she still had to choose something to wear for the tea party. Stephanie pushed open the sliding doors of her great closet, which was filled to bursting according to the latest fashion every season, with the contents weeded out a few months later and three quarters of them given to charity. She flitted through the racks, looking for something that would look duly impressive and elegant without being too attention-grabbing. In the end, she settled on a demure gown in antique pink with little pearl buttons - understated but very expensive. A little white handbag, with matching shoes and gloves, completed the ensemble.
* * *
The Literacy Society Ladies held their tea parties in a specially reserved coffee house on the top floor of an imposing city center building, falling just a little short of a skyscraper. The walls were lined with many large elongated pots containing flowering shrubs and climbing vines, creating an almost perfect illusion of a spring garden.
Most of the ladies were already gathered when Stephanie arrived. There was her friend Natalie Harper, the wife of a leading car manufacturer, glittering with ostentatious diamonds. There was Liz Halliday, chattering away as usual. There were wives of politicians and bankers, steel and oil magnates, and even an artist or two. Business women in their own right, however, were few and far between here. The Literacy Society was for women of luxury and leisure who took their position for granted.
"Stephanie, dear! How wonderful you look!" Natalie trilled as she approached and pecked Stephanie on the cheek. "You've done marvelous things to your hair. And your gown is just lovely. I adore the color. How are the children?"
Before Stephanie had a chance to answer, she heard the tinkle of a little bell held between the thumb and forefinger of Anne Shelly, the president of Literacy Society Ladies. Anne was very pretty, rather plump, and favored hats with feathers. She always wore great long strings of perfect, gleaming pearls, which were far more expensive now than they had been in the old days, as the ocean pollution made pearl farming nearly grind to a halt.
"Ladies," Anne said, clearing her throat. "We are here to talk of a su
btle, hidden problem. It is often said that there are no illiterate people among us, that even the most unfortunate had the benefit of regular schools after we recovered from the disruption caused by the War. But how many of those low-class wretches who spend their lives working in some dreary factory and living in some dreary apartment building can read a good book? Or, if you wish to be more practical, how many of them really understand the instructions on a medicine package? A letter from the municipal office? Even their own tax statement?"
"I really think, my dear Mrs. Shelly," a bored voice sounded from the crowd, "that, rather than try to educate the masses, which will never work anyway, because people of the class you refer to don't really want to be educated, we should clamor for simplified medical instructions, official statements, and legal documents."
The speaker was Danielle O'Shea, the attractive, self-satisfied daughter of a congressman, who divided her days between traveling, going out with a different suitor every month, and participating in several societies.
Anne frowned. "This would mean dooming hundreds of thousands of people to a bottomless pit of illiteracy and ignorance."
Danielle shrugged her shapely white bare shoulders. "Well, yes, I suppose, but so what? The less they know, the less they want to know. They are capable enough for the sort of work they need to perform. Better education will only put them out of conceit with the life they were destined for, and cause frustration that can never be helped. It might sound cruel, but we can't lift everyone up. Especially not now that the White Tower is pushing for granting status to the Illegals."
There was a rising whisper around the hall, and Stephanie felt many pairs of eyes upon her. She did her best to ignore it, looking straight at Shelly and paying little attention to anybody else. Ned didn't discuss much of his office work with her and, if she were to be frank, she found most of it boring. Who cared if some Illegals were transferred from one place of dreary wilderness to another? Stephanie furtively admired her perfectly manicured nails, zoning out. One didn't really need to be very attentive at the Literacy Society meetings. Just being there, and looking dignified, and nodding and smiling once in a while was enough.
"But Danielle, surely you will agree that this fatalistic outlook is not very constructive."
"Why not? We need to be realistic above all else. High notions of culture and literacy won't really help the working class. Deep down, I think we all know it, and I really believe…"
Discreetly, under cover of the increasingly loud debate between Anne Shelly and Danielle O'Shea, Stephanie called over one of the cruising waiters and asked for a cup of tea, nice and hot, with a slice of lemon, no sugar.
"This is so tedious, isn't it?" Liz Halliday whispered in her ear. "I thought of skipping the meeting today, but I missed the previous one, and I promised Anne I would come."
"This can't last much longer," Stephanie said, glancing at her slender, elegant gold watch. "They're going to bring out the refreshments soon."
Liz stifled a yawn. "We all love Anne, but she takes all this way too seriously, if you ask me. And she listens to all sorts of ridiculous rumors, such as what some human rights activists say about the cross-Boundary Registry camps."
She rolled her eyes, evidently expecting Stephanie to mirror the gesture, but Stephanie's face was blank. "What do they say?"
"What, you don't know? I'd think Ned would have told you."
"You know Ned. He never talks shop if he can help it. So what is it that they say?"
"Something utterly ridiculous. That the routine vaccines those people receive are some sort of medical experiment. Incredible, isn't it, what some lunatics can come up with?"
"Yes. Quite incredible." Her hand shook slightly as she reached for her tea cup.
Stephanie was relieved when the time came to say goodbye and take the elevator downstairs to the parking area, where the car was already waiting for her. She was tired and frazzled. All these clubs, societies, charities preyed upon her time, usurping it by the right of some unspoken rule. But it was expected of a woman in her position to act for worthy causes in a public manner, and she also made some useful connections that way. Those could not be disregarded in the career path her husband chose.
The children were already bathed and in their pajamas when she arrived home. The sight of their clean, rosy faces as they rushed to kiss her stirred a deep warm feeling within her. I might just dispense with the Literacy Society after all, Stephanie thought. One couldn't do everything, and there were other things in life.
"You can go, Carla," she said. "I'll put the children to bed."
"Very well, ma'am. Good night, duckies," the au pair softly called out as she closed the door behind her.
Stephanie lifted little Georgie and put him in his bed. His small body was languid with tiredness, and as soon as he found himself among the familiar blankets, his head drooped down and he nestled contentedly. Olivia's eyes, however, were bright and alert, as they sometimes were in the evenings when she resisted sleep.
"A story, Mommy," she demanded.
"Alright, then. Let's see... hmm... how about something from Winnie the Pooh?" Encountering no objection, she took the book from the shelf, opened it at random, flipped several pages until she reached the beginning of a story, and started reading.
Olivia listened in silence for a few minutes. Then, during a pause, she observed, "Piglet doesn't talk that way. He sounds more like he's frightened. Like this - oh, what's that, Pooh?" Olivia mimicked a shrill, high-pitched voice.
"Who said that's how Piglet sounds?"
"That's how Carla always reads this."
Again, Stephanie felt a stab of regret, realizing how much more time her children spent with the au pair than with their own mother. She forced a smile. "Well, sweetie, there is more than one way to read this. But why don't you teach me all about how Piglet is supposed to talk?"
When the nursery was filled with the children's deep, slow breathing, and Stephanie closed the door behind her, she was just in time to hear Ned's steps at the front door.
"Where is Mrs. Thornton, Carla?" he asked.
Before the au pair could answer, Stephanie came over and pecked her husband on the cheek. "Hi, honey. You're so late tonight. I was about to call. A lot of work at the office?"
"You can hardly imagine. I'm starving. didn't even have time for a proper lunch. What's for dinner?"
"Carla made something. I think it's Chinese-style chicken in sweet and sour sauce. Let's go and give it a try. I haven't eaten yet either."
With the large dining table folded down to a convenient size, the Thorntons had a comfortable candlelit dinner together. Over a plate of sweet and sour chicken and a nice bottle of red wine, Ned Thornton revived and gradually lost his harried look. Finally, he loosened his tie and sat leaning back, twirling his wineglass in his hand.
"Well, that's better. I tell you, I can't wait till I'm Minister. Then I won't have to be at everyone's beck and call. How about you, Steph? How did the Literacy Society tea party go?"
"Oh, it was much the same as usual. Lots of talking." Stephanie hesitated, wondering how much she should venture to tell. "Most of it nonsense." she finally added.
"What sort of nonsense?" Ned asked, clearly out of a wish to humor her.
"Some people say that there is something unethical going on in the camps made for the Illegals. That they're receiving vaccines with poorly researched side effects." She gave a strained little laugh and took another sip of wine, anxiously awaiting her husband's reply.
Ned frowned. "I don't see why those Literacy Society ladies can't mind their own business, Why don't they worry about how factory workers write 'would of' instead of 'would have'?"
Stephanie looked troubled. "But Ned, it isn't true, is it?"
"Look,,. the Ministry of Health is running a sort of a trial vaccine. There might be some side effects for some people."
Stephanie bit her lip. "What sort of vaccine is that? Do they even know that they are receiving it?"
Ned looked at her, seemingly a little annoyed. "They receive the shots in the course of a regular vaccination program. There are about a dozen vaccines, all in all. Explaining all about each one of them would be impractical. Those people are incapable of understanding it properly anyway. Most of them scarcely even know what a vaccine is."
Stephanie hardly dared to ask the next question. "And what... what kind of side effects are we talking of?"
"Just a little fever, for the most part. From what I understand, about two or three percent may develop tumors as a result, as this is an injection of an artificial virus strand that messes with cell division, but in over half the cases the tumors are benign."
Stephanie did a quick mental calculation. "Do you mean to say that about one in a hundred people will get cancer after the vaccination?"
Ned looked exasperated as he saw her obvious horror. "Look, sweetheart, you know that the Illegals who ended up shipped across the Boundary are low scum that our society couldn't afford to support. Born without permit to people who weren't supposed to be having children at all. They are wild, uneducated, uncontrolled, and have led a half-animal life until now. Even if they were all to disappear, the loss to our country wouldn't be very great. But as it is, we're trying to make something of them. The Registry camps offer them safety, shelter, plenty of food, and some sort of education, which is far more than they could have hoped for in their former miserable state. The least they can do is repay society by helping us reclaim the wild land and providing trial ground for the new vaccine."
Stephanie stared at him, wide-eyed. "But if people are getting seriously sick, the civil rights movement won't–"
"My dear, these people have no civil rights. They're Illegals." He gave a thin-lipped smile. "And besides, the research team assigned to work on the vaccine is busy developing a better version, one that will have no misses and can be released to the public. The payoff may be huge. If this vaccine works, many forms of cancer might soon become a thing of the past. If your father had received it a few years back, he might have been healthy today."